Alone Time

I have found that this blog is really the best place for me to vent my frustrations about the trials of motherhood. It is a comfy virtual couch upon which I may give words to my thoughts and feel as though someone has heard me. So for today's therapy session I'd like to discuss the importance of "alone time." As the dental entrance exam date fast approaches, we see less an less of James. Which means that this chubby little lady who throws up a lot is left to manage two fiery little boys by herself.

This is a task that I'd normally meet with nothing but enthusiasm and joy, of course. However, I found that pregnancy has temporarily impaired my super-mommy skills, and I have found myself stumbling both physically and metaphorically as I try to parent alone.

For instance... last week I was searching Daniel's closet for the perfect shirt in which to send him off to school, when I heard him say, "He's gonna pour it. He's gonna pour it." Momentarily clueless to the words that I had just heard, I proceeded to make the appropriate wardrobe selection. Suddenly the words registered in my brain, and I rushed out of the closet just in time to see the entire box of cereal dumped onto the carpet in the boys room by my youngest son, Dallin.

Now the question here is, "Who is at fault?" Is it Dallin for dumping out the cereal? Is it Daniel for watching him do it? Or, is it Mommy for being slow to react to the warning that was given. After expressing my displeasure to both children, I realize that I am most likely the responsible party. A very sad realization indeed.

The day continued with the usual stresses of mommydom. Napping 3 year-olds and chubby mommies are much less agreeable when awakened repeatedly by tele-marketers, media surveys, and automated calls from Blockbuster reminding you that you have just purchased Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium because it wasn't returned in time.

At the end of this very long day, I found myself on the floor in the bathroom giving the little one a bath and coaching Danny with his homework. I had made a dinner that no one, but myself, felt like eating and I was exhausted. As I tried my best not to get the "no more tears shampoo" into the eyes of my little one, Daniel pleaded with me to tell him how to spell please.
"P-L-E-A-S-E" I said. To which Danny replied, "P what?" You can guess where this was going. We proceeded to shout back and forth until Danny had finally written the word "please." Then he said, "Mom, where's the O?" I said, "What O? There is no O in please!" Daniel insisted that there was. He just knew there was. "What is wrong with you? Of course there's an O. I just know there's an O." This continued for sometime. I had to bring in reinforcements. I got Grandma on the phone to explain to Danny that there was no letter O in the word please. After tears were shed, I finally went to the table and saw that Danny had drawn a picture of himself dressed as a Policeman.

I couldn't have felt any smaller. I had stumbled again in a very fantastic manner. My son just suffered quite the breakdown because I didn't understand that he was asking me how to spell "police." We finished the homework and the bath and I sought out a moment of time in which to collect myself.

Earlier in the day I made a very unhealthy trip to the grocery store in which my kids knocked 7 too many things off the shelves, and I bought too many bags of Potato chips, too many packages of Oreos and not nearly enough produce. I also picked up a box of Dark Chocolate Mint Hagen Dazs Ice Cream Bars. Before placing this precious box in my freezer at home I took out a large permanent marker and wrote, "I have to share my uterus, please don't ask me to share these!" Yep. I wrote it right on the box. So that evening when I needed a quiet moment, I knew that I could find relief inside that dark chocolate coating. I quickly fetched an ice cream bar out of the freezer and looked for a place to escape to where I wouldn't be noticed. It was no good. I've raised them to well -- the kids have Hagen Dazs radar. When I explained that this treat was just for mommies, tantrums ensued and they began to chase me around the house.

What happens next, I'm not proud of.

I went downstairs and locked myself in my own private bathroom, where I sat on the edge of the tub enjoying my Dark Chocolate Mint Hagen Dazs Ice Cream Bar. The boys were of course banging on the door and there wasn't a moment of silence to be had. But, that beautiful ice cream creation made the day fade away and it brought me great joy.

So, the next time you see a mom with screaming kids at the grocery store, just hand her a box of these and tell her that they're sure to come in handy.